The Storms That We Weather
by orangesunset12
Summary: In Jason's defence, he was injured. (In which Bruce's bed in the fluffiest and the warmest in the Manor, and Jason has high standards.)


Bruce regrets a lot of things.

He regrets going to that movie for his parents' anniversary. He regrets going to A.C.E chemicals that night and unleashing the devil onto Gotham City. He regrets not being able to save everyone from everything, like he had promised himself long ago.

And sometimes, in the deepest cracks of depression, he regretted everything. Donning the cowl, wasting his life on a mission that never ended, and often, in his darkest dreams, he regretted his one rule. The invisible line- never crossed- that he wore like a badge, like a child flaunting a trophy.

Sometimes all he wanted to do was tear down Gotham City with his own bare hands, as revenge maybe or just cruel justice. And maybe, finally, he'd be truly happy.

These thoughts were racing through his head as he stared at the silhouette in the doorway.

"Jason," Bruce stated.

Jason swooned slightly, clutching the door frame for support. Batman and Robin had found him and Nightwing injured and bleeding three days earlier, closer to death than life.

But still alive. Bruce thanked every single god he didn't believe in for that one.

"Bruce," Jason mumbled, the medicine shrouding everything in a light haze.

Outside the window, lighting flashed down like a silver fork. The rain lashed against the window panes, streaking it with invisible tear stains. A rumbling in the distance echoed through the grounds of Wayne Manor.

"What are you doing up so late... erm, early?"

Jason threw his hands up in exasperation, thereby losing his support. He thrashed forward, arms pinwheeling, until his face smashed against the floor. Bruce stood up quickly and rushed to his side.

"Whoa there, Jason," he said as he checked for bruises on his face.

Jason seemed relatively unfazed by his testing of gravity. "Get off," he slurred, pushing Bruce away weakly. "I don't want you."

Batman ignored the shooting pain in his chest. "...Um, what exactly do you want?"

"I want your bed."

Bruce blinked. "Did- did you break your bed or something-?"

"Don't be ridiculous," the young man dismissed. "Your bed is the best, and I want it."

If Bruce had learned anything in his lifetime, it was to never argue with his sons.

"Alright, then." Bruce hauled his second eldest to the bed, where he flopped down and hummed satisfactorily while rolling over to lie on his stomach. Jason stuffed his face into a pillow and sighed.

"Just like home," he murmured.

Drawing the blanket gently up to his neck, Bruce stood up and started to walk away. He froze at the sound of Jason's voice.

"Where are you going?"

"To sleep, of course. I mean... in your bed."

"You idiot."

For what seemed like the thousandth time, Bruce's mind clouded with confusion.

"Excuse me?"

"You're an idiot," Jason repeated impatiently. "The bed is more comfortable with you in it."

Bruce's heart skipped so many beats it was like a heart attack. "Oh. Of... of course."

He slid his way back into the bed, aware of Jason shifting around on the other side. Turning to face him.

In the gloom, his eyes shone like two giant spotlights.

"Are you afraid of me?"

"What?" Bruce spluttered. "Jason, I- what- no! No. I'm not."

"Then why did you lock me away?"

The familiar anger seeped into his voice, but at night, in the darkness, it sounded worse.

And suddenly Bruce realised that it had never been just anger, but pain and hatred and sorrow, and also- fear. Bruce wasn't afraid of Jason, yes.

But was Jason afraid of Bruce?

"That's not it," he sighed. "I wanted to... help you."

"You wanted to change me."

"It's not like that!"

"It was always like that." There was the soft scuffling noise of Jason turning over, his bright eyes suddenly extinguished by the dark. "You wanted me to be like Dick. Bright, happy, following orders- someone you could actually love, right? But I couldn't be like him, so you killed me." Pause. "I mean, you let me die."

"Jason-"

"And when I came back I was worse. You didn't count on that, did you? Me coming back? And now you couldn't change me, so you locked me away. You were afraid of me. You didn't want to look at me." Jason sucked in a breath. "Is that correct?"

The silence stretched on for longer than it should have, not because Bruce didn't know what to say- goddamnit, Jason was his son, always- but because he didn't know how to say it.

I love you? Please forgive me? I was only trying to protect you? All of them the truth, but hollow. Not good enough.

"...No," Bruce tested, starting his speech with something familiar. Denial. "No, that's not correct. You may have scared me sometimes, Jason, but I was never afraid of you. I was afraid for you. God, Jason... I lost you once. I wasn't going to lose you again."

"But... but you lost me anyways!"

And there it was. The startling- yet not surprising- ugly truth. The ones that, Bruce imagined, all parents had to face some time. He'd tried to protect Jason, tried to hold on to him, then he had lost him.

Hell- that was what happened to Dick. Slap a label on it that says teenage rebellion, or growing up, but it never changed the fact that Bruce had lost Dick. He'd tried to take Robin from him so that he'd never lose him, and that was how he had lost him.

What had even happened with Tim? Had he even tried to talk to him when he came back to life? It had been great, until he died, and when he reappeared from the time stream or whatever there had been a new Robin and suddenly Tim was on the other side of a chasm a mile away.

There were probably bets on how quickly Bruce would lose Damian, too. Especially since he seemed to favour Dick over him anyway.

"I know," he choked. "I should've known from the first time I made that mistake. But- but I've never been good at learning from those things, and I'm sorry that you had to pay the price. That all of you had to pay."

"So... you thought that by pushing us away, you'd get to keep us?" A small scoff. "You're a bigger idiot than I thought."

Bruce laughed. "Fathers are idiots, aren't they?"

"Yeah." There was a brief silence, as Jason probably reflected on the other father he had. "...Does this mean you're my father now?"

"Haven't I always been?"

"Maybe," Jason admitted.

The storm was letting up. A single moonbeam shone through the thick clouds, casting a glow across the grass. The wet drops of rain clung to the blades, less like tears now and more like pearls.

Thunder rumbled more distantly than ever.

"Remember when you were a kid?" Bruce suddenly asked. "You were so afraid of these storms. Alfred used to warn you, just so you could prepare to sneak into my bed."

Jason made a choking noise, and then burst into laughter. It was this that jolted Bruce into realisation- the laughter was deep and hoarse, not at all like the child that he still envisioned in his mind.

And Bruce was proud of Jason. Honestly, deeply, proud. Despite the blood and the guns and, well, the murder attempts on Tim's life, he was proud of his second eldest son.

He was still, after all this time, trying to do the right thing. And no matter what anyone said about his version of 'the right thing', it told Bruce that a part of him was still Robin, tumbling through the air with Batman at his side.

Jason's voice jarred him out of his thoughts. "Bruce," he snorted, "I was never afraid of the storms. I'm a street kid, I basically lived in them."

"What? Then... why-?"

Bruce could basically hear Jason roll his eyes. "I just wanted to sleep with you." Hastily, he added, "I mean, in your bed. For comfort."

"For comfort," Bruce agreed, grinning.

"Right." Jason coughed awkwardly. "I'm, uh, actually going to sleep now."

"Yeah, you should." Bruce paused. "...Will you still be here in the morning?"

But Jason was already fast asleep.

* * *

Tim rubbed his eyes in wonder.

He had just returned to the Manor for a week, after discovering Nightwing and Red Hood's condition. It hadn't exactly been pleasant- in fact, the best part of it had been when Dick had almost died and the Demon Child was too busy faking being strong to harass him. (Okay, well, the Dick almost dying part had certainly not been pleasant.)

Still, though, he'd expected Jason to bolt as soon as he could and Dick to storm out angrily after another confrontation with Bruce.

So here he was, at the base of the stairs, rubbing his eyes to clear the sleep dust and actually look at the scene in front of him.

Jason was sitting at the dining table. This, in itself, was a miraculous feat, because Tim could not remember the last time Jason had touched a piece of furniture in this house and without breaking it.

Damian and Dick were also sitting at the dining table, and they were eating omelettes like Jason being there wasn't a mind-bending-time-and-space-fabric-ripping event.

And absolutely nobody was arguing.

"Replacement," Jason acknowledged.

"Hello," Tim said, stunned, as if meeting him for the first time.

And then Tim encountered the unexpected problem of sitting down. On the one hand, he could next to Jason and opposite Damian and probably get killed; on the other hand, he could sit on the end of the table and look like an absolute idiot/jerk who refuses to sit with his brothers.

He sighed and sat next to Jason.

"Drake," Damian greeted. "Tardy as usual."

"Damian!" Dick scolded. Thankfully, Tim was to wrapped up in Jason's presence to take offence.

Jason speared a sausage. "So, how long are you going to stare at me like I'm Wonder Girl?"

Tim blushed deeply. "I told you not to bring that up," he muttered.

"Jason's going to be staying for a while," Dick grinned. "He's finally stopped being stupid and emo and stuff."

Jason put his hand to his heart dramatically. "I will never give my emo status! Black leather and sadness! Those are the things I live for, Goldie!"

"Why are you staying?" Tim bit his lip. "Not that that's a bad thing, I mean, I-"

Jason shrugged and cut him off. "I thought..." He looked to the doorway. "Maybe it's time for me to catch up on things."

From the doorway, Bruce leaned against the wall, smiling.

He decided to cancel work that day.

* * *

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